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Sunday, July 6, 2014

A Rich Homemade Chocolate Cake with Love

For the
longest time, Bangalore in my memories had an aroma. It had the alluring smell
of rich hot chocolate cake.

My first
visit to Bangalore was during one cold December, to the house of my mother’s friend.
Having slept off in the bus en route, I had woken up hours later to the smell
of baking cakes. We had reached Achamma aunty’s house.

Aunty was a good cook
and an expert in making cakes. For the first time, I tasted hot, home baked
chocolate cake. It was soft and warm and made my taste buds jump with joy. The
cool Bangalore atmosphere, combined with hot chocolate cake. It was ethereal.
Aunty indulged me and I hogged cake day and night, fighting tooth and nail with
my siblings who demanded their share.

The visit
colored the memories of a six-year-old girl about Bangalore, permanently with
the aroma of hot chocolate cake.

Years later,
my husband was transferred to Bangalore, and we came with our three-year-old
son. This time my mind’s eye, partial to the flavor of chocolate, commanded
that I experiment with baking. Off I went, and purchased a ready-to-bake
chocolate mix from the near-by super market. The cake was ready soon.

My taste
buds protested...NO...NO...Not anywhere close!!

My son
declared..”Eee..it is tasteless”.

Sunshine
came in the form of Achamma Aunty and she gave me the recipe for her famous
chocolate cake.

“Use borosil
bowls to bake. It will help keep the cake uniformly cooked and healthy,” she
advised.

Eggs, curd,
milk, cocoa powder, baking powder, butter, vanilla essence, flour…I had a host
of things to purchase. Dropping my son at school, I rushed through the shopping and returned home to bake.

The whole
procedure was a battle with the five senses, especially taste and sight. The
ingredients well mixed and ready-to-bake tempted me. A war between my
self-control and the dark –sweet-creamy- chocolaty batter with the faint whiff
of vanilla essence began, the moment I poured it into the transparent borosil-mixing
bowl. Only the glare of the light reflecting on the glass told me of the
presence of a barrier to my 3-D temptation, making my stomach growl.

“Two or
three spoons of cake batter is not going to do anything to your already damaged
figure, lady..Come on..Try Me!” screamed the temptress.

I obeyed.
No...I didn’t stop at two..Nor at three. I stopped after a few more spoons
full, remembering the expectations of my toddler, who would arrive hungry. One
who would howl like a baby monster if mummy monster didn't fulfill her promise
of hot chocolate cake.

Keeping the
bowl inside the pre-heated oven, I watched it turn. I too joined the jig,
turning and swaying in glee. Setting the timer, I went to pick my son from
school, which was just a stone’s throw away from our house.

Entering the
house again, my heart flipped with happiness. In a blink, I went on a time
travel down a cake scented memory lane. My house smelled like the Bangalore of
my memories. The aroma of hot chocolate was wafting out from the kitchen.

“It smells
yummy..Yay..chocolate,” chirped my happy son and together we waited for the
oven to chime announcing that the cake was done. A toothpick inserted came out
clean and taking the bowl out, we waited with our mouth open to allow the cake
to cool down.

“Is it not
cool yet..?” enquiries came every second from my son and my mind. I transferred
the uniformly cooked cake into a transparent Borosil serving plate. Nothing
should hinder the beauty of my dusky beauty.

We cut the cake together.

“Is it my
birthday again?” he asked and I said ‘Yes Dear”

The warm
inside of the chocolate cake when we cut into it, made me drool, tantalized me
to touch and feel. The texture was just perfect. It was soft like silk.

We dug into
it together. No..No..this time there was no need for mummy to feed him. He
could eat it alone. After all, he was now three years old. Quite grown up, and
smart enough to notice that mummy was eating more than he was. And to ban her
from touching the plate again.

Sigh…

Don’t judge
me people, if I confess that I sneaked off the best portion and hid it in a
casserole, this time opaque, when he became engrossed in a problem Mickey mouse
was trying to solve on television.

When my
husband came home that day, the transparent serving plate from borosil was back
on the dining table, inviting him, charming him, to taste the delicious, moist
and rich chocolate cake, which oozed (*I insisted*) with my love for him.